


Meet Me By The River

by smithandrogers



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, bathing together, mentions of nudity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithandrogers/pseuds/smithandrogers
Summary: Charles and Arthur have the habit of walking in on each other at the most inopportune times ;)
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 25
Kudos: 137





	1. Horseshoe Overlook

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackberrygarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberrygarden/gifts).



> As based on the prompt: "...I've been playing some chapter 2 again lately, so how about some Charthur with a twist; at Horseshoe Overlook they're near a body of water for the first time since Blackwater, and Arthur accidentally stumbles upon Charles bathing..." as part of my follower milestone celebration on tumblr.

He huffed and grunted as he dropped the stag onto Pearson’s table. The cook’s lip curled as he looked at Arthur over the carcass; his nose scrunching up in protest of the stench the outlaw had brought with him. “Oh god, Morgan. Did a skunk get you?”

“Why don’t you wrestle a buck in this weather and see how nice you smell after.” Arthur grumbled.

Pearson wasn’t wrong. Arthur was soaked to the bone with mud and blood and the rain that had pounded them for three days had only just let up a couple of hours ago. Arthur had spent the entirety of his hunting trip in a state of ‘slightly damp’. His socks were full of grit and squelched between his toes; his shirt clung to him uncomfortably and the way his hair plastered against the back of his neck gave him half a mind to take a knife and chop it all off. He shuffled towards his tent, contemplating a ride back into town. Digging through his trunk for a fresh set of clothes, he decided against it. His bones ached at just the thought of riding anymore that day. His eyes caught a glimpse of the overlook as he straightened. Why ride all the way to town when there was a perfectly good river in walking distance?

When he swung by the women’s tent to haggle for some soap, he didn’t even need to finish his sentence before Karen was chucking a bar at him. He caught it before it hit his nose, leaving them with an incredulous look as the three girls dissolved into a fit of giggles. “Mr. Morgan…”

Arthur held up the soap and fresh clothes in his defense and Miss Grimshaw let him pass with only a hard look and threateningly pointed finger. His escape from camp was otherwise uneventful and he slipped away, heading down towards the river. The afternoon was growing surprisingly warm, so this might even turn out enjoyable… He found himself lost in thoughts of how good it would feel to get the grime on his skin. Arthur only vaguely heard the splashing and humming as he got closer but was too caught up in his fantasy of cleanliness to really notice anything until the river had come into view and he found himself frozen in his tracks.

All thoughts stopped for a moment, everything dumping out of his brain to make room for what he saw before him. Charles stood, naked, waist deep in the river, washing himself and humming absentmindedly. The scene filled every corner of Arthur’s mind. All he could do was stare, mouth slightly agape, watching the water roll off Charles’s shoulder and down the planes of his back until in returned to the river. For some reason he couldn’t stop thinking about the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he rubbed soap across his stomach. The low hum of Charles’s voice reverberated around his brain, stirring this very confusing pot of emotions and thoughts.

Charles looked over at him, brows knitting together. “Can I help you?”

It took several tries before Arthur could manage to produce intelligible sounds, and in the end it all amounted to him shrugging, holding aloft his soap and muttering “I need to… clean.”

Charles nodded, watching curiously as Arthur set his clean clothes down on a nearby boulder. “Well, there’s a whole river, Arthur.”

“No,” Arthur said quickly, struggling to remove his soggy boots, “It’s not… I just… I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Charles just watched out of the corner of his eye as Arthur stripped down to nothing and hurriedly waded into the river. He found a good spot to stand a few feet away from him and began to scrub away the grime, trying not to look at Charles and trying not to think about Charles looking at him… unsuccessfully.

A heat pulsed in the pit of his stomach and it got to the point where Arthur had to turn away because the water was very clear and even with the distance between them it was getting a little obvious. He tried scrubbing at his back, fingernails digging at the mud caked on his spine. He grunted at the effort. “Arthur.” He turned to see Charles giving him a small smile, “If you want help, you can just ask.”

Arthur froze, unable to think of anything except the way Charles moved through the water towards him. For the first time in decades, his voice cracked. “Thanks.”


	2. Clemen's Point

Lemoyne was definitely his least favorite place he’d ever been. He didn’t mind the heat; he’d loved the dry hot days on the desert plains of New Austin, but this? This was torture. It was hot during the day and hot at night and the air always felt like it was trying to wring your neck. And it was sticky. All the time. There was no time of day that his clothes didn’t cling to him and it made him uncomfortable in some indescribable manner; like he was in too small of a space.

He stared off into nothing, his journal sitting loosely in his grip. The invasive heat had made him give up on sketching; the humidity made the paper all funny and the lines from his pencil didn’t seem to come out the way he wanted. It was just too hot. He felt as if his brain might melt. His mind wandered as he blankly watched Tilly across the way sewing away. Everyone was stripped down to their undershirts and hidden away in the shade in an attempt to stave off the weather. He thought of fishing and water and Colter and anything else cool he could think of. He thought of the Dakota River and the chill of it against his skin after a long day’s work and of Charles standing, glistening in the waters and… 

He cleared his throat and heat rose in his cheeks, looking around involuntarily. No one was around, no one cared, but he still felt nervous. Him and Charles had never mentioned the moment again, but he had thought of it… more often than he cared to admit. Strange feelings still shot through his gut every time he talked to the man but he always swallowed them. He was just being silly.

And then his gaze drifted over to where Charles was hard at work, chopping firewood. Everyone else had managed to shirk their chores but not Charles. He swung the axe well; moving with strong, even strikes. His shirt clung to him, allowing clear view of every movement that went into every chop. He was so powerful, so dedicated and…

“Hey there, Arthur!”

He nearly jumped at the sound of his name and he looked up, hoping that his face just looked flushed from the heat and not the sting of embarrassment and confusion in his stomach. Kieran gave him a cautious smile. “You doin’ okay?”

The boy was unnervingly chipper. He’d gotten the better end of the deal with this heat: everyone was too miserable to be mean to him, and his spirits had brightened accordingly. “Sure.” Arthur said half-heartedly.

“You look a little…” His voice faltered as Arthur gave him a harsh look, “Like you’re melting. You should go swimming; it helps.”

“You go swimming?”

Kieran shifted, changing the grip on the saddle he was holding. “Yeah, I’ve been taking the horses in so they can cool off a bit. They need it just as much as we do. Actually,” He leaned forward conspiratorially, “I’ve been using that spot where we saw that, uh, gentleman. Its real quiet… when he’s not trying to join you.”

Arthur had tried very hard to forget the naked man he and Kieran had seen when they’d gone fishing, but he found the idea of taking a swim in the lake enticing. Once again, as his mind drifted towards the water, it drifted towards Charles too. It took all the control Arthur had not to glance over at him. “You know,” Arthur stood abruptly, casting his journal aside, “Maybe… I’ll do that.”

Kieran’s smile grew more confident as he watched him stomp away, desperate to go somewhere where he could cool off. He just needed to be out of the heat and away from his thoughts. “Have fun!” Duffy called after him.

No one bothered to look up as he went by them. The girls all huddled in their wagon, Karen laying at the entrance and staring off blankly into space. “How can you be moving right now.” She moaned as he went past.

He muttered some response like “Need some air” without really paying her much mind. Charles watched him curiously as he went. “You okay, Arthur?”

Arthur’s pace quickened. “Fine. I’m… Fine.” He said, not daring to look back at the other man.

He needed out of camp. The walk to the little cove seemed like a blur. He just wanted to cool his body and clear his mind and stop thinking all these… thoughts. The water was wonderfully chill as he waded in. Confusion and discomfort all faded away and his mind cleared. He leaned back and let himself float, letting everything fade away as he relaxed: no chores, no jobs, no one yelling at him, no Charles with those understanding eyes asking him how his day was… Dammit. He frowned. No. No thoughts, just cool.

Just as he found a little tranquility, there was a rustling in the bushes. Arthur moved rather ungracefully to stand, trying to find his footing as someone appeared out of the brush. Charles stopped abruptly, said “Oh!” and then turned to face away. “Sorry.” Charles said roughly, “You didn’t look so good earlier. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am now.” Arthur blurted.

That was a stupid thing to say. What if he thought that he meant he was better now that he had walked in on him? “I just needed to cool off.” Arthur added quickly, laughing awkwardly, “Felt like I was melting sitting in my tent.”

Charles smiled to himself, noticing the hitch in Arthur’s voice. It was little things like this that Arthur did that made him forget all about how gruff he was. He glanced half-heartedly over his shoulder. “A good idea, going for a swim.”

“Yeah.”

Charles let the pause hang between them, allowing himself the tiniest little hope that maybe, just maybe… “It’s real hot, you know,” Arthur said, “Maybe… you should go for a swim too. You’ve been working real hard.”

He finally turned to face Arthur, who swallowed hard at the smile Charles gave him. “Maybe I will.”

It was impossible to describe the way Arthur’s chest tightened as Charles began to pull off his shirt. It was easier to know the heat that pooled in his stomach. He knew for certain though, that he hoped walking in on each other was becoming a habit.


	3. Shady Belle

Arthur had thought living on the lake had been bad, but the swamps were worse. Not only was there the heat, the stickiness and the bugs, but now there was the stink of the water and the bellow of gators. Worse than the heat, however was the gloom that hungover the camp. It wasn’t the humidity, but waning moral. Everyone was cranky and on edge. Saving Jack had been a small victory, but everything else they had lost was starting to take its toll. The weight of their actions was finally falling upon their shoulders and no one quite knew what to do about it.

He only knew that if he stayed there any longer, he was going to go mad. Arthur dug through his things, as an idea crossed his heat weary brain. He had a treasure map he’d nearly forgotten about in the whirlwind of fleeing Rhodes. He referenced the notes he’d scrawled and his journal and let out a sigh of relief: Cumberland Falls. The map would take him far from the heat and desperate eyes of the gang and that was exactly what he needed.

Through his window, a conversation from below floated up to him. Bill and Javier were arguing again, heatedly. He leaned out the window to see if intervention would be needed, only to find Charles hovering near the quarreling men; watching, waiting to break up a fight. Arthur felt warmth, much more comfortable than anything in the air, fill his chest. Charles. He should ask him to go with him. Surely, he needed as much respite as Arthur did.

Arthur found himself nearly skipping down the stairs moments later, his bag packed for the trip, and a leery excitement making his limbs tingle. Charles gave him a soft smile as he approached and Arthur’s heart felt as if it might stop. It was a casual gesture, the smile, but it felt like the world to him. “Mr. Smith,” Arthur said roughly, trying to be heard over Javier and Bill who were still going at it, “You busy?”

Charles’s stance relaxed. “What do you have in mind?”

With a nod indicating ‘not here’ they both stepped a little ways away, out of earshot of everyone else. “I have a little… fortune hunting trip that I’m taking. Goin’ up into Cumberland Forest. I was wondering…” Arthur paused, trying to steel himself, “I was wondering if you would want to accompany me. I know…”

“When do we leave.”

“I… uh… well…” Arthur found himself sputtering, caught entirely off guard by Charles’s easy acceptance, “Soon as you’re ready, I ‘spose.”

Charles’s smile broadened and the rest of the world seemed to disappear for a moment. Arthur didn’t hear his response; he didn’t much really register anything else really. Before he knew it, they were mounted up and Shady Belle was nothing but a memory in the distance.

The ride was quiet. Charles was never one for idle conversation and Arthur had never minded that. There was an… subtle intimacy to a silent ride; to the sharing of unpressured and casual company. The farther north they got, the more pleasant the weather became and the more Arthur felt the weight of the gang fall off his shoulders. There was nothing but the road before him, the horse beneath him and the man riding at his side. It all felt right.

As night fell, they found themselves in the Heartlands. The prairie rolled on for miles around them, just waves of grass going on forever until they met the inky horizon. A small fire kept off the chill of the night, flames flickering in the breeze that cut through the grasses. Arthur lay on his bed roll, watching the sky, but all he could think about was Charles, who laid just a few feet away. Here, in the quiet, his thoughts seemed to organize themselves, aligning like the stars above. He finally felt as if he could put words to the feelings that had been turning in his chest. They could have been laying there for hours or minutes, it was hard to tell. He took a deep breath and slid his hand out into the space between them. It was an admission and a question. His eyes closed, his heart pounding in his chest. No matter the answer, there was no place he’d rather be. 

Charles stared off into nothing, very aware of the vulnerability of the moment that was forming between them. He knew his answer to Arthur’s silent question, but it had to sink in. Life had not been kind to him. It felt as everything had been rushing up to this point and it had all halted all at once. He felt as if the air had been knocked out of him. There felt as if there was nothing else as his fingers intertwined with Arthur’s.

They laid in the quiet of the night, holding onto each other as if the sea of the grass would wash them away from the moment.


	4. Guarma

Tahiti had seemed an amusing distraction; a whimsical goal to boost the moral of a withering camp. So Arthur had played along with it. As he sat on the beach, he could no longer entertain these delusions. Now, contemplating the rolling and unforgiving expanse that reached out as far as he could see until it mingled with the line of light that was the setting sun, he could not imagine spending his days anywhere as desolate as an island. This lonely, isolated speck in the middle of endless blue nothingness mimicked the sentiments that echoed in his hollow chest. He was… alone.

He was used to unending horizons; to amber plains and golden deserts and towering mountains, but they always promised something more. There was always a road to take him somewhere new… or to take him back home.

The ocean had no roads, and even if it did, he was no sailor and couldn’t navigate them. But it was still the water, and with thoughts of the water came thoughts of Charles. For a moment, he could feel his touch, hear his voice. His heart ached. He could only hope that he had escaped; that though they had ended up in this hell, he had fared better.

His head hung low, finally looking away from the waves that crashed against the shore. He was alone, but he was not hopeless. With a grunt, Arthur pushed himself to his feet, stretching his stiff limbs. He didn’t know when or how. It might be the end of him, but he would get back. He would hold those hands in his once more.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

It is strange how one can find purpose in tragedy. Charles had thought that, given all that had happened, the gang would dissolve; its members would fade away like leaves on the wind, dispersing into the world. Yet they stayed. In one startling moment, as he watched the girls follow in Miss Grimshaw’s stern wake, gathering up the camp, even the belongings of those who were no longer with them, he realized that this wasn’t just some gang; they weren’t just a group living together for convenience; they were a family. They held each other’s hands and dried each other’s tears and moved on together. And he found himself moving with them.

He felt the echoes of Arthur in everyone of them. In Susan’s stern care, in Tilly’s defiant nature, in Mary Beth’s unending imagination, in Pearson’s devotion, and in Sadie’s determination to not let the family fade. These were Arthur’s people, and in his absence, Charles felt himself clinging to them as if they were all that were left of the man for whom he cared. Charles found himself getting lost when he went out hunting. He avoided the cities and the posters with his face and bounty. He found himself drifting north and finding Arthur among the wilds up there as well.

And then came the letter. It was addressed to Arthur; a thank you for his help and a plea for further assistance from the Waipiti. But there was no Arthur to answer. It took Charles a week to decide if he would go in his stead. Sadie was only surprised it took him so long to make up his mind. Her expression was always harsh and serious, but there was a softness in her eyes. She understood. She missed him too. She knew that matching his steps made the man seem a little less far away.

So Charles found himself riding north along the Dakota. He didn’t expect to be welcome. He didn’t expect acceptance. He didn’t expect to feel so… melancholy. Once again, he found himself surprised.

Rains Fall was a good man; a kind man; a fair man. Charles had known few like him. Days turned to weeks and soon he found himself riding up the Dakota regularly. He had never known his people. Sometimes he questioned if he’d ever had a ‘people’, but he had begun to feel different. For once… he had a place in everything. There were people who needed, who cared, who depended on him. Whether he trekked through the swamps or the mountains, on either end of his journey waited people who he could find comfort in.

There was only one thing missing and every day he prayed to whatever power cared enough to listen that the part of him that was gone would return home.


	5. Beaver Hollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to do it to 'em.

“Mr. Morgan, perhaps a good trip down to the creek would do you some good.”

There was a softness in Miss Grimshaw’s voice he was not accustomed to, and when he looked up it at her, it seemed she wasn’t accustomed to it either. They had known each other a long time. She had stitched up his wounds and his clothes, but now he was suffering something she could not fix. The hand she pressed to his arm was warm. “That sounds like a good idea, Miss Grimshaw.”

His voice was rough, but she paid no mind. She gave him a small, yet broken smile and moved back towards where the girls were huddled together. The camp was unnervingly quiet. They all sat cast to the edges. No one hung about the fire. Javier’s guitar was long out of tune. Dutch hadn’t played his gramophone in weeks. A little time away from the tense and morbid silence that hung over this place would be good.

The trek down to the creek felt longer than it was. His bones ached. With every breath, his chest grew heavier and heavier until he found himself wheezing. In the back of his mind, he realized he would never live long enough to know if this was what getting old felt like. He couldn’t ask Hosea either. His shoulders dropped. Oh, Hosea. It felt as if someone had drilled a hole through him every time he thought of the old man. If only they’d had more time. What Arthur wouldn’t give for just one more lecture, one more drawn out and ridiculous story…

Splashing drew him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Charles wading through the water towards him. The smile on the man’s face made him tense, even though he’d seen it a thousand times. Even if he knew its warmth was meant for him, he still failed to feel worthy of it. “Can I help you?” Charles said, half joking, half sincere.

“I don’t mean to intrude.” Arthur said softly.

In his head, he was taken back. It was months ago and there they were, awkwardly standing on the banks of the Dakota River, having this same conversation… Charles’s smile broadened, and Arthur knew he was thinking the same thing. “Well there’s a whole river here, Arthur.”

Even as he said it, his hands were reaching out, drawing Arthur in as he hurriedly rid himself of his clothes. Those hands held him steady as he slipped on the loose stones of the creek; warmed his chilled frame as the water lapped at their waists. Those fingers moving across his skin, washing his back in a gesture so intimate, it made Arthur shiver. He felt as if he were melting away under Charles’s touch. There was a care there he didn’t deserve.

For a moment, he wished he could stay there forever, where his biggest concern were his soapy hands gliding across Charles’s chest and the warm breeze that he feared might knock his clothes into the water. Here he could breath. His body wasn’t crushing under the weight of living. His joints ached, but when had the ever not.

It was good quiet here, none of the poison that filled the air in camp had polluted this place. They knew what was on the other’s mind. Arthur knew the home Charles longed for; of the place he had found among the Waipiti. Charles knew that Arthur could never leave until this was over. Neither wanted to argue about how this would end; neither wanted to think about it either. So they didn’t speak. They enjoyed the sun on their backs and the warmth of each other and the cool of the water around them.

And they kissed. Desperately and solemnly and woefully they kissed. It was earnest and full of demands and dreams Arthur feared he could not meet. For all that Charles wanted, of him and of the world, he wasn’t sure there would be enough left of him to see it all through.

What would be left, when all was said and done, even if it were just his bones or his dust, it would be Charles’s.

Tears streamed down his cheeks. It wasn’t enough; he wasn’t enough. And yet Charles’s lips still moved against his, calloused hands gently wiping the tears from his cheeks. For all that Arthur was filled with sorrow and despair, Charles was filled with hope. It was the only good thing he had learned over the years; it was the only thing that kept him going. And as they kissed, he willed that it would keep Arthur going as well.

*********************************************************************************

They say your final thoughts should be of home, but as Arthur’s breaths grew shallower, he was realizing he’d never had one. He had nothing to think about but his regrets: of Eliza and Isaac, of Mary and Lenny and Hosea… and in the end, Dutch. He’d failed no one as much as Charles. This would be his third time disappointing someone who had allowed him into their heart. He was walking away again. He wanted to be able to say that it was not the man he had been raised to be, but he hadn’t really been raised to be much of a man.

Here at the end, he still felt like a work horse, a tool for others’ ambitions. He had never taken the time for his own hopes and dreams, and so here he was at the end, empty. He cursed the setting sun. He cursed the peace that had fallen over this mountain. He cursed the breeze that blew through the fields he overlooked. He cursed his lungs and his legs and every dumb, weak breath that rattled in his chest. In the end, he had done it all for everyone. This was the end he had earned himself, for all the anguish and destruction he had caused, but no one ever said he had to be happy about it.

No, he was angry. And all he could hear was Hosea’s voice in his head saying that if he’d had enough energy to be angry, he’d had enough energy to get up and wash his damn boots. So he did. It took more time and effort than he would ever admit to anyone, but he got to his feet. He didn’t care how long it took. It didn’t matter how many times he needed to stop. Every step from this point on, would be his own. He was tired of other people’s ambitions. There was only one man who would tell him what to do ever again, and he’d be damned if he didn’t make it back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE IS GOING TO BE ONE MORE CHAPTER, I PROMISE. YOU THINK I WOULD NOT ALLOW MYSELF THE SATISFACTION OF A HAPPY ENDING? DON'T BE FOOLISH.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a tease. I know :)


End file.
